Late Night Singalong
by Kage Chikara
Summary: The Brain-Hurting Fanfic Pairer speaks and I obey. I got the prompt Hunter Queer as Folk US /Mr. K Gravitation , so here we are. If you don't know who Hunter is, the story can manage to make sense without it. As much as it makes sense at all.


Author's Notes: This is a weird story with a lot of crudity. If you don't know who Hunter is from Queer As Folk, just imagine this is any fifteen year old prostitute and go from there?

Late Night Singalong

This is how it happened. No way am I shitting you.

There's a street off Liberty Avenue, a couple blocks away, where I hang out sometimes after midnight. What, no, not to be a fucking prostitute you cock…what? …Yeah. Yeah, okay. Yeah, sometimes I pick up johns out there. Anyway, can you shut up or are you going to keep talking through my whole story? Thanks.

So I'm out there walking around, doing whatever. It's halfway past winter so I'm freezing my tight, hot ass off—what do you mean, no advertising? I have to make a living—and this car rolls up and starts to slow down. So I pose against the nearest available fire hydrant—like this, legs spread, kind of dry-humping it but not really, you know?

So the window rolls down on this car and it's a nice car, all black and so glossy I can see my reflection in the side of it. I fingercomb my hair down a little, the wind is making it stick up. This guy leans out of the car, sunglasses, long blonde hair and just the hint of a tie. He looks like a movie star, I'm thinking, this is gonna make my day.

"Get in," he says and rolls up the window. I scramble off my perch and slide into the _heated _thank you Jesus car, kind of closing my eyes to bask in the heat for a minute.

Then I realize he's pointing a gun at me.

The car's sped up and I'm freaking the fuck out, begging him not to kill me, crying like a little bitch and he just kind of grins this hugeass grin and slaps me on the back and goes, "Great!"

We stare at each other.

I stare at the gun in his hand. He stares at me.

"…You're pointing a gun at me," And I'm thinking, why me? Why all the crazy ones?

"Oooh yeaah!" He says cheerfully and he keeps the gun pointed. "Sing," he says.

"Uh…" I say and he gestures a little wildly with the gun. So I start singing the first thing that comes to mind, which is Mary Had a Little Lamb.

Don't look at me like that, just because I had a shitty childhood doesn't mean I missed out on all the basics.

He's frowning though and he's still got the gun so I transition to Hanson's Mmmbop, which yeah I know is totally queer but I used to have this meth queen friend who sung it all the time, so I just kind of picked it up from him.

Now I'm no Brittany Spears or even her drag queen impersonator from Babylon but I can carry a tune. So this guy listens for a while, nodding along and then he kind of starts petting my hair and I think, okay, cool, I can handle this, I've got this under control. Then I realize he's /examining/ my hair, then he's examining my face and my clothes, pursing his lips with a little nod to himself every now and then.

When I finish the song and I've done as many Mmmbops as I can without getting really repetitive, he grins at me again with that really stupid grin. "Great! You be big star!" He claps his hands together, one still holding the gun, which makes me wince and just about piss myself, then he fishes out a card and hands it to me.

"You come!" At first I think we're finally getting around to sex, but then I look at the card. It's got a studio name on it and "Mr K. MANAGER' in this really big dumb-looking font. "Tomorrow. Big star!"

And I'm like…yeah, sure, big star, whatever you say man. The car rolls to stop and I'm reaching for the door, thinking I'm lucky my brains are spattered everywhere, when he shoves and I mean not a gentle little push but fucking SHOVES his hugeass gun in my face.

"If you don't come…bang!" He says, only imagine it even more thickly accented than that. And he pulls down his sunglasses with his other hand and _grins_.

So I'm nodding and agreeing and then I'm stumbling back out to the same streetlamp I was at before and the car drives off. And I'm alone.

If I hadn't been holding that stupid card, I don't think I would believed it. You know? It was too weird and I've seen a lot of weird shit. A lot.

So then I start walking home to my crash pad and that's when you shitholes show up and kidnap me. I bet you remember that part? Yeah. And now I'm in this stupid little room who knows where and you've gone all CIA on my ass and…what? What do you mean I can go?

Oh. Okay. Yeah, um, thank you too. What did you say your name was? Ark. What kind of name is Ark, man?

…Yeah, good point. Hunter is kind of a stupid name.

Hey, wait, this guy's offer…was it real? I mean, the stupid card and everything and the gun, he's clearly a huge psychopath and all, so it's probably just some weird hoax or something…

And there's no way that someone is going to make me a singer or anything, I don't have any training and I'm an HIV positive fifteen year old /whore/. So there's no way, right?

Right?


End file.
